


have you lost your mind (or has he taken all of yours too)

by moonjockey



Series: and you don't even know yet [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton Being an Asshole, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, Fluff, Gen, Human Disaster Aaron Burr, M/M, all art is an attempt to make sense of the present don’t @ us, flirting with masks?, the pandemic fic no one asked for, yet here you are fuckers, zoom zoom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25375216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonjockey/pseuds/moonjockey
Summary: Burr’s tastefully decorated sunroom does not, no matter how much his obnoxious colleague insists, make it look like he is Zooming from the bathroom.
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton
Series: and you don't even know yet [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837594
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84





	have you lost your mind (or has he taken all of yours too)

**Author's Note:**

> AKA the ZOOM where it happens
> 
> I'm serious. Don't @ us. (Nah, go for it. We deserve it)
> 
> Co-authored with LeftHook

“Hamilton. Sit. Down.” Burr drew a hand down his face. He stared at Hamilton’s little window on his computer screen, willing Hamilton to see his frustration over the pixels Hamilton would see of his own image. “You’re making people nauseous. We don’t need a tour.”

“—And the best way to do that, is of course, by fiat rather than—What? Oh, fine,” Hamilton said. He stopped pacing and very clearly plunked his laptop down on the nearest flat surface. “You always were a lightweight anyway.”

“My dear Alexander, he was only saying what we were all thinking,” said Professor Franklin, who was not Burr’s first choice to come to his defense—a man who always had at least three cat tails visible on the screen—but he said, “See?”

“Whatever. As I was saying—”

“Are you in the kitchen?” Burr said.

Hamilton dropped the chip bag he had just been opening and threw his hands violently out to either side, a gesture that generally meant the department meeting was going to end in shouting, tears, or both. “Am I in the _kitchen?_ Burr, you’re in the _bathroom!”_

“What? I am not in the bathroom!” Burr half-shouted into the laptop, and then winced. Why did Hamilton always bring out his inner middle-schooler? He took a moment to thank God that the department chair wasn’t on the call, smoothed out his face, and said: “Look.” 

He held up his own laptop, showing, he hoped, a closeup of the sunroom where he was sitting. “Not a bathroom.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Burr. But I’m staring straight at a bathroom.” 

Burr looked around his sunroom’s tasteful gray walls, wondering how the hell Hamilton could see a bathroom. 

“Sorry Aaron, but he’s right,” Franklin said, petting a gray tabby that had jumped up on his lap. 

"Yes, Aaron. There’s like a display of decorative towels right behind you,” Eliza said kindly, gesturing at the screen. 

Even John Adams, who still didn’t understand how Zoom worked and looked half asleep most of their meetings, piped in: “I had been curious about that myself, Burr.” 

Hamilton looked so goddamn smug, stuffing his face with chips. “See, I was just saying what we were all thinking.” 

“Okay. We’re getting off track here!” Burr said.

  
  


The next departmental Zoom meeting they had was Thursday. Burr logged in a few minutes before the meeting time, as was his custom. Only Hamilton and his department head, Angelica Schuyler, were on yet. 

Before Burr could even get a word in---”Still in the bathroom I see, Burr.” 

“HAMILTON.” 

Schuyler, damn the world, damn Hamilton, damn everything, was laughing. “Hamilton, bless you. That tile! I’ve been wondering this whole time.”

The trouble was that Hamilton, so far as anyone in the department and the administration seemed to think, could do no wrong. 

It didn’t matter that his petty fights with the three other constitutional scholars had been covered in the _Chronicle of Higher Education_ ; that he had catastrophically broken the lounge espresso machine in less than a day; that he had called the chair of Oxford’s history department a fraud in a public talk; that for every three glowing student evaluations he had one absolutely scathing one. 

That for all his bafflingly prodigious output, back when they were still on campus he had consistently shown up in Burr’s office at least three times a week with no actual question and just talked at him for up to two hours straight, until Burr actually closed the door on him.

No, Hamilton just kept rising, and his articles kept getting published in increasingly prestigious journals, and Schuyler kept mentioning his work in private one-on-one meetings with Burr and, and---on and on, the catalogue of Hamilton sins kept growing in his mind. 

Schuyler continued laughing as more windows joined the screen, and Burr lost his opportunity to save face as she muted all mics to begin the meeting. 

A chat notification popped up at the bottom of the screen. 

**Alexander Hamilton: next time let’s see you in your bathrobe!!**

**Alexander Hamilton: it would be on theme**

Hamilton had sent him a private message--did he NOT know these were publicly obtainable?!? 

Burr pointedly closed out of the chat without responding. Hamilton wouldn’t know he’d closed it, but by God, Burr did. 

It didn’t stop the completely inappropriate, unwanted, all-around unbearable, and thankfully invisible flush creeping up his face.

  
  


After Burr finished his lecture for the day and started catching up on his grading, his phone buzzed. 

**Hamilton: Burrrrrrr**

Christ.

**Hamilton: You got a second? The results from the Ashworth schools came back**

Burr turned the phone over on his desk and pulled his laptop closer, opening up last week’s problem sets to start to grade. 

His phone kept buzzing. Burr put his headphones in. 

**Hamilton: You won’t believe the results!!!! seriously you gotta take a look**

Dammit. 

**Aaron Burr: Fine. Let’s meet at 5:00.**

When Hamilton’s face popped on the screen, Burr could already see his mouth moving. 

Burr tapped his ear. “Hamilton. I can’t hear you.” 

Hamilton unmuted and Burr was assaulted with Hamilton’s voice. 

“--near the rest of the results, I haven’t run a regression yet but there’s no mistaking—”

Burr was sure he could feel the beginnings of a headache. “You have to start over. Remember, I couldn’t hear you.” 

"Try to keep up, Burr.” Hamilton had the audacity to wink at him. 

And here he was--blushing-- _again._

“As I was saying, there’s no way these aren’t significant. I’ve never seen data like this.”

Hamilton shared his screen and they went over the results together. It was going fine, well as fine as anything could go with Hamilton. Until, Hamilton being Hamilton---

“This’ll get you tenure if you publish solo,” Hamilton said. 

"What?” 

“Easy peasy. I know Adams, he’ll fall all over himself for this. Angelica won’t think it’s half-bad either.” 

Burr opened and closed his mouth. “I can’t publish this solo. You’ve put in at least 100 hours of work.” 

“So pay me back sometime,” Hamilton said, grinning, easy, like he was offering to pick up the night’s bar tab. 

“You don’t understand,” Burr said. “I can’t publish this solo. That would be—” 

“What happened all the time to me in grad school. Seriously, Burr, I’m telling you to do it. I’ve got six other articles I have to write up and four more studies wrapping in the next month—” and in the midst of Burr’s haze he couldn’t help rolling his eyes at Hamilton’s casual drop like this “--so really it’d be a favor to me _.”_

The clock ticked in the corner. Outside, someone honked at a kid on a bicycle. At long last, Burr opened his mouth and said, “Okay.”

He wanted it, God help him, he did. He even thought it would be worth whatever Hamilton would ask in return, though Burr hadn’t the faintest idea what it would be.

“Thank you, Hamilton,” he said. 

Hamilton winked, again _,_ and said, “Think nothing of it. Aaron.” 

When Burr logged off the meeting a few minutes later, his face still felt flushed. 

  
  
  
Burr was using a wet wipe to carefully open up the freezer door to grab some frozen pizzas when he heard a familiar voice echoing down the grocery store aisle. 

A voice that tortured him a few times a week over Zoom. 

“Burr! Oh my god, Burr!” 

Burr turned around, wet wipe still in hand. 

He was face to face with Hamilton for the first time since March, when they had walked out of the building together, Hamilton rapidly listing opinions from all the epidemiologists he’d followed on Twitter. 

Hamilton stopped a few feet in front of Burr. Thank God he didn’t try to hug him or anything. 

Hamilton’s eyes crinkled and Burr knew his mask was hiding a giant grin. “Mr. Burr, sir.” 

“Professor Burr, if you please.” 

“Oh my God, same old Burr. You know, it’s been a crazy ride these past few months, but it honestly gives me just pure uncomplicated joy to know that there is one constant in the universe and that is Aaron Burr.” Hamilton was definitely still grinning. 

What the fuck was Burr supposed to make of that. “Glad to be of service,” he said flatly. 

“Can’t believe I’m going to get thirty uninterrupted minutes of you and your bathroom on Tuesday,” Hamilton said cheerfully, undeterred.

“It’s _not a bathroom,”_ Burr hissed, painfully aware of the large grocery store they were standing in, which basically every faculty member on campus shopped at. “It’s just a tastefully decorated sunroom!” 

“Me and the provost are looking forward to your presentation,” Hamilton said. In real life the shadows under his eyes stood out in stark relief. 

This was what Hamilton did. Mocking to genuine in two seconds flat. Why couldn't he be a proper rival? 

“Yes, I think I’m all ready for it,” Burr said honestly. “I finally feel like I’ve gotten the hang of Zoom by now.” 

“Of course you have, Burr! I just found out how to change my background last week. Just you wait, I have a few saved up to try in the meeting...” 

And just like that, there Hamilton went again. 

**Hamilton: Burrrrr**

**Hamilton: best of luck!**

He got Hamilton’s text right before the meeting started, followed by a truly obnoxious amount of emojis. 

When Burr put down the phone and looked at his own image on the screen, there was a stupid grin on his face. Horrified, he smoothed it quickly back to a normal, pleasant smile.

The number of people in the Zoom meeting was increasing. There went Tom Payne, Ariana Bullet, the third Schuyler whose name he could never remember. He caught a glimpse of Hamilton’s tiny face before it autoshifted to accommodate the number of attendees. 

He took a deep breath in and held it two, three, four seconds, breathed out. Lecturing over Zoom hadn’t been at all bad after he’d gotten the initial hang of the technology. But for an audience of his peers, he hated not being able to see individual faces, to gauge their reactions in real time and incorporate the feedback into his talk as he went.

Given all the free time he now seemed to have--he’d never gone to very many places before, but there were at _least_ three--Burr had started reading self help books at night. It was a good way to end his day and help him sleep. 

There was a section about public speaking he had turned to last night: 

_“Focus on giving, as a speaker. Think about your presentation as a gift to the audience: A nicely wrapped package of valuable information, helpful ideas, and meaningful content. The mental attitude of giving empowers you and frees you.”_

He let the words echo in his head as he took a deep breath and started his presentation. 

  
  


When it was all over, he felt good. The discussion that followed had been cordial for once; only a few faculty members had disagreed with his recommendations. 

A text pinged. 

**Angelica Schuyler: Nicely done.**

He had barely enough time to exult over that before his email dinged, announcing a new message from Thomas Jefferson. 

_Interesting thoughts, Burr. Let me know when you have a few minutes next week and let’s catch up._

Heat rose in Burr’s face. Sweet Jesus, he’d been trying to get Jefferson’s attention for years--years! 

He sat there, glowing all over with a pleasant haze, and another text dinged. He leaned over. Hamilton’s name, that was later than he’d expected.

**Hamilton: Burrrrrr!**

**Hamilton: You have my vote**

**Hamilton: You knocked it out of the park my man**

Sometimes Hamilton was all right.

**Hamilton: Four different people texted me during that talk to ask if you were in a bathroom**

He stared at the phone. 

**Hamilton: sent an image**

****

**Hamilton: sent an image**

**Hamilton: sent an image**

****

How was he even supposed to respond to that? 

**Hamilton: See it’s not just me!!!!!!!!**

Burr just….

Burr just wouldn’t engage. He turned his phone over. He stood up from his computer. Maybe he would pick up dinner from that new Thai place in town tonight. He had earned it. There was a new movie on Netflix he had been dying to watch. He could think about what he was going to say to Jefferson.

His phone started to buzz longer this time. Someone was calling him. 

Of course it was Hamilton. Burr stared and stared.

He picked it up on one of the final rings. 

“This had better be an abject apology.”

“Dude! You totally rocked it!” Hamilton practically yelled into the phone.

Burr held it away from his ear, swearing. “That didn’t sound like an apology,” he hissed.

“What? What are you mad about? You can see in the texts I was defending you. Burr, what are your plans for this weekend?”

This man… 

Burr tried desperately to hold onto the failing strands of his anger. “I’m … it doesn’t matter! Hamilton, you realize how rude that was.” It should not have been as much a question as it came out.

“I had nothing to do with it! Those people texted _me._ Anyway, have you written up the Ashworth study yet? I can take a look at it if you like. I was reading some fascinating pieces last night from the 1980s that aren’t cited anywhere I can see in the last twenty years but they would be a perfect complement to the school policy section. Have you ever gone through the back issues--” 

Burr listened with an increasing sense of unreality. He let Hamilton ramble on, moving from old issues of _Economics of Wool Markets_ to the latest epidemiologists he’d apparently personally called up and interrogated (poor fucks) and then to the dialects of Gaelic he was picking up to interpret old legal papers from the 1700s.

“So listen, what are you doing on Sunday?” Hamilton said, at the end of this string of unbelievable and fascinating nonsense, and Burr startled. 

“Was gonna go over the suggestions Franklin gave me on that paper,” he admitted. 

“Mask up. Bring them to the quad. We’ll go through it. I am king of revisions.” 

“.....Okay.” 

“All right! It’s a date. See ya at two then. Bye Burr.” 

The call ended without pausing for a reply. Burr lowered the phone and looked at it. 

“It’s a date?” he said slowly to the phone.

God fucking help him, he was pretty sure it was a date.


End file.
